Courtship
by Mendori-chan
Summary: The pull that draws him to these humans is so strong that he no longer wants to fight it. Esme and Carlisle's story.
1. Chapter 1

"Dr. Cullen?"

I looked up from the papers I was perusing, meeting a pair of green eyes. The nurse had, from my peripheral senses, knocked twice before opening the door. I didn't understand why I was still caught by surprise.

"Your patient is waiting for you," she continued politely.

I set the papers down and, as a habit of mine that had not died ever since I was human, I nodded once with a warm smile.

"I will be at her room in a while," I replied. "Thank you, Anna."

She quickly averted her gaze, and then I heard her heart quicken. Her hands staggeringly closed the door of my office after mumbling a faint, "N-No problem."

As soon as her footsteps were far away, I heaved a heavy sigh.

I had work to do.

On a normal day, these things would have been so easy. But this was not a normal day, as it hasn't been for seven years, because I was still engrossed with so much worry.

I gathered the papers on my desk and swiftly arranged them into a folder tucked underneath the book I was currently reading. I frowned a little, now and then remembering the nurse's green eyes. How is it that when I start to occupy my mind with something else, a remembrance of him would pop up so suddenly?

_I hope he isn't getting himself into too much trouble_, I thought to myself.

And then I chuckled lightly at how absurd it seemed to me. Getting the feeling of being a father was an idea I had not the faintest memory of acquiring.

So I let the anxiety pass as quickly as it came. Now I was wearing my serene mask: poised, professional, impartial. Truly, there were other matters that needed my attention more.

I got out of my office then and led myself to the room I was currently assigned in. As I passed, everyone greeted me with as much respect as I deserved. I would respond just as respectfully, but not without feeling a little rueful that none of them saw how deeply in a dilemma I was in.

I arrived at room 251, examined the monotonous white door that decorated every floor in this hospital, checked the full name of my patient, and knocked.

No one answered when a reply should have been expected within the given time frame; these humans had quite slow reflexes.

I turned the knob and pushed the door open, softly.

"Mrs. Styne?" my voice was no more than a quiet whisper.

It was then and there when I saw her for the first time.

Her subtle scent, lilac and lavender, wafted all throughout the small room. She was gently nestled on her bed, her caramel tresses falling softly like waves down her shoulders. The peaceful reverie in her face, eyes staring out the bright window, welcomed the warmth that the sun offered to light up her face.

There were two heartbeats. One was her own: steady and stable; the other was quiet and small. Underneath the white sheets that blanketed her lower body was a medium-sized bump that emerged from her stomach.

It took me the length of one human heartbeat to examine her, which was more time than I typically needed. Quite unusual. Although, measuring her from where I stood, I could see that her eyes were wise and… deep.

"Mrs. Styne," I prompted gently, and then she slowly turned to my direction.

Her emerald eyes widened when she saw me standing at her door, and a subtle pink stain smeared itself on her cheeks.

I processed her expression, and smiled inwardly. She was indeed lovely. But her curious, perhaps abashed, green eyes only reminded me of the worries I suppressed earlier on.

"Were you waiting for too long?" her soft voice asked.

I felt my facial muscles soften. "Not long enough to complain."

She relaxed her shoulders, relieved. "I'm sorry… When I start thinking of something important, I lose awareness of everything around me."

What a coincidence. But now wasn't the time to socialize. I could feel that pull, as I had several times during the course of my existence, call out to me.

A pull that drew me to these humans.

It was not something I should nurture early on, especially since I knew how easily I would fall to being attached to them. I smothered it, quietly shoving thoughts of acceptance when an escape from this loneliness presented itself to me. None of these humans deserved to feel the fear that would surface once they knew what I was.

"My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen," I introduced myself. I did not know for sure, but somehow, she caught the slight way I evaded her statement. I knew this because there was an infinitesimal crease that wrinkled her forehead.

I went on as if nothing happened, "You must be…" I pretended to fumble around on the chart I had in hand. Humans usually behaved this way. "Esmeralda Styne."

"Esme," she corrected.

I smiled in apology. "Esme."

Her eyes traced their way to gaze at my chart. There was a peculiar expression on her heart-shaped face then, as if something in the chart I was holding would present to her bad news.

"You're just having a bit of a high fever from the flu—" _Influenza_, I corrected mentally, and that brought on a new wave of anxiety for what it reminded me of. "—so you need a lot of rest. Your baby will be out soon enough."

Yet somehow, my reassurance did not comfort the brimming emotions underneath the surface of her face.

"Esme?" I called out to her, a bit anxious myself.

"It's bad news for him, isn't it?" she murmured to herself, eyes now focused on the linoleum floor.

"Him?"

"My baby." Her delicate hand instinctively smoothed the bump on her stomach. She finally looked up to meet my face again. "It's bad news for him," she repeated.

I pursed my lips, thoughtful.

"True," I agreed cautiously. "But then again, it won't really affect him much if you rested long enough to regain your strength." As I talked, I walked over to her side and placed the chart on her bedside table. "So, that won't be a problem, would it?"

She was thoughtful for a moment as well. For a fraction of a second, she let loose the tension in her shoulders again and heaved a soft sigh. Her eyes were watching her own hands as they continued to smooth the bump, rounding up into circles.

"Am I being too paranoid, Dr. Cullen?" she asked in a whisper.

"Not absurdly so," I amended.

It was just so normal for a soon-to-be mother to get worried about her unborn child. Surely, there was nothing wrong if she worried about her health as it might affect her baby.

However, I was too distracted to think of anything else when I found her in that peaceful place again; that gaze of reverie as she watched her stomach. It was that same serenity and placid gaze which she held upon my entrance.

Deep in thought, I said to myself. There was something that struggled within her, and yet I could not intervene as easily as I wanted. My curiosity for these humans never seemed to fade throughout the passing years.

I felt that pull yet again, that unmistakable urge to be closer to someone.

But I had to stop it.

"Will your husband be arriving soon?" I asked out of impulse, just to escape that dreaded longing. There was nothing wrong with my question, I assumed, as it was not unusual to ask about the spouse of a patient. Surely there was a counterpart to the title of her _Mrs_.

"He died almost eight months ago."

It did not quite shock me as it should have that my perfect review of each patient's chart slipped into something this devastatingly low.

"Oh," was all I could say. "I'm—"

"No harm done," she smiled up at me, now curling her lips into something warm and assuring. But something in that smile made me doubt if there really was 'no harm done.'

I averted my gaze back to the door where I came in from.

How could I let myself slip up so easily? Thoughts of that ancient grief were usually better controlled in days like this, yet somehow I could not suppress them so well. Perhaps this woman who sits here must have some kind of effect in me?

I frowned at the thought, yet I did not dismiss it entirely. She was probably feeling the same anxieties as I was; loneliness, as made clear now that her husband had died just recently, and… parental worry. I was, after all, worried about _that_ child of mine who had gone to live without me seven years ago.

Maybe we were just on the same page, however seemingly far apart our situations were.

"Do you have a child, too, Dr. Cullen?" her question came out in another one of her soft whispers.

At first, I didn't know how to answer her. Did I really have a child I could call my own? Not in that biological sense, but in the sense that she had meant?

But then again, a thought came crashing down on me: Did I really think of myself worthy enough to be called a _father_ to someone whose life I've broken?

I relaxed my posture, which was already as still as stone. Rigid, like a statuewn on me. in the sense that tuations in days like this, yet somehow i . I had to put a lot of effort into looking back at her curious green eyes, because I knew staring into them would only send be back to the depths of solitude.

"I don't know, Mrs. Styne, if I could still call myself a father to him." That was all the honesty I could offer her.

But her answering gaze smoldered me into place; it had a depth that understood me.

"You love him," she said.

Truly, I do. "Yes."

"So he will come back to you."

However uncertain those words were, placed in that order, I knew myself enough to hope that she was right.

I smiled as softly as I could. "I'll be right back to list down your medication," I said slowly, now making my escape from this seething pain in my chest. I did not resent her for allowing that ache to resurface itself, but it does not mean that I could stand one more minute to look at her honest face.

I was half-way through the door when she called out, not seeming to recognize the pain brimming inside of me. "What's his name?"

I seized the doorknob a little tighter than needed, a little more forceful than necessary.

"Edward," I replied, and his name brought with it the worry, the anxiety, the guilt, the pain… the _acceptance_ I've kept so long.

I made my exit, but not without leaving a few dents on the wall as I passed.

End of chapter I


	2. Chapter 2

_Escape._

That was the only word that flooded every inch of my mind. I passed my colleagues then as they greeted me. Thankfully, I was still able to put up this masked smile on my wretched face.

"Good morning, Dr. Cullen."

"Oh, doctor, you look well today."

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think, doctor?"

"What a lovely shade of blue your shirt is, doctor."

They did not notice how quickly I passed, how fast my feet took me to my office. All I had to do was smile in response to their useless chatter, and that was all that they needed to feel accepted.

_Accepted_, I thought wryly.

How easy it was to be human now.

I walked into my office then, closing the door behind me. My mahogany desk sat there, beckoning me to come as it had numerous unnecessary paperwork waiting for me. They were all just there, upon my request, in case I needed a distraction. The doctors were more than glad to hand over to me their documents, as I would finish them as quickly as they came.

A pile of twenty-four credentials sat, and I seized the opportunity for any minute distraction I could find. I suppose this was my way of escape, filling up this mundane paperwork. I could have read some books, but truth be told, I've already swept my eyes through each and every book in this hospital.

So I filled them all up, and it only took me less than thirty minutes.

I heaved a sigh after pushing aside the last one. I felt a bit calm now, knowing that the pain had subsided quietly… for the moment.

My eyes turned to the direction of one lone folder, now isolated from the stack of perfectly-organized documents. There was no use stalling now. I had to face it all over again, now a little bit more prepared.

I couldn't let a human rule over my emotions, however emotionally unstable humans in general were.

Upon picking up her files, I read through Esme Styne's hospital records and learned as much as I could about her.

She was born in New Jersey in the year 1908 and moved here, to Missouri, three years ago with only her husband. Eight months ago, her spouse was considered deceased due to a fatal train accident, as trains were not at all that stable. She lives alone, currently supporting herself all throughout her pregnancy.

A case of mild influenza broke through the state just recently, and considering that she was already at her ninth month of pregnancy, she found it more assuring to stay in the hospital until her delivery.

There was nothing unusual about her records, I assumed. But what I could not understand was why a smile tugged on my lips with the knowledge that she was four years older than I was, technically speaking.

I took out my prescription pad and dotted just an anti-pyretic drug to counter-act her fever. She had reached 41 degrees last night, as I read through her chart earlier, and the attending nurse concluded she had the case of intermittent pyrexia.

Soon enough, I was on my feet.

When I got back to her room, I was greeted by her kind smile. Subconsciously, I wanted to bury that feeling of yearning yet again, for when she looked at me that way, I could not resent her for making me feel a false hope hang above my head.

"Are you alright, Dr. Cullen?" I could sense a twinge of regret that sparked somewhere in the way she spoke. "D-Did I offend you…"

"Certainly not," I amended softly. Somehow her agitation affected my polite rebuke, because I didn't want to see the alarm on her face. "Mrs. Styne, I am simply worried about my young man going off on his own for a while."

She lowered her gaze. "I suppose it was… a sensitive topic for you."

"Yes…" I whispered, but I was in better control now that my emotions were in check.

"My deep apologies, doctor."

I could not suppress the soft chuckle that had suddenly escaped. And that shot her green eyes back to meet mine when I replied, "You should not apologize for something that is true."

Occupying my hands with something to do, I began to check her vital signs even though it was not my job, as a doctor, to do. Perhaps no one would mind if I wanted to spend a little more time with one particular patient, as the hospital already has more helping hands compared to thirty years ago. I left her to her thoughts, and not once did we both feel any need to fill in the silence within the room.

"I'm afraid…" her soft voice broke through the quiet as I was checking the drip rate on her intravenous wire.

I turned to her. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid if I can't raise him well."

She was worrying about her baby yet again. "Mrs. Styne—"

"Please call me Esme," she insisted, probably a little abashed that I kept addressing her so formally. Or maybe it was just on the surface; maybe it must have affected her every time I mentioned that last name intertwined by her deceased husband's.

"Esme," I sighed, smiling. "You need not worry too much about that, not when your anxiety could affect him. You see, by the time he grows up, he will soon have his own paths to choose."

Worry creased her forehead. "Would it be wrong if I wanted to keep him close to me…?" She trailed off, and it was then when her thoughts had engulfed her once again. It surprised me, though, that I had observed her so well just within the few moments I met her.

She fascinated me.

"No, I don't think it would be wrong…" I responded just as quietly, my thoughts taking a course of their own. I remembered how Edward had furiously rebelled on the way of life I pressed onto him. I remembered how much he had hated reading every kind thought that I possessed for him, and that he knew he just needed to breakaway from this life I chose.

I didn't have the right to hold him back, no matter if I was treating him like a child of my own. I was not his father, and never should I assume myself to be.

Remembering that night he left, with utter finality in his voice that he wanted to go on his own from now on, I cringed away from the pain that it had brought me.

"When we keep them too close, sometimes… its harder for us to let them go when they want to break free," I finished my response, glad that I had the words finally out.

I turned to Esme, and she had already held my eyes.

Delicately, as if a knot had unraveled, she smiled up to me. "You shouldn't feel lonely for something you did right."

Her eyes were filled with so much trust, compassion. Wise, emerald eyes bore into me, and I wished so much I could tell her everything.

But I could not.

That night, Esme's water broke. She went into labor by 9 in the evening, and I was more than glad to have been the one to deliver her baby.

It was quite a surprise because she knew all along that her baby would be a boy, despite that we had no appropriate technology to determine that during her pre-natal consultations.

But that was not what worried me to death. Her baby boy was weak when I took him out of her womb.

He had cyanotic extremities, and his cry was a weak murmur against all the blood. His heartbeat did not quite meet the standards of a normal health baby, and his respiratory count was unusually slower than what was supposed to be expected. I worried gravely, as I began to form small circles on his back to facilitate his breathing, that the baby would not survive for too long.

I offered Esme's baby for her to see, and she crooned with so much warmth and love that it tugged at my chest.

He was her only family now, and I knew that I had to do everything I could possible to save his life. Even when, a million times over the course of my experience in hospitals, this case did not really allow a high percentage of survival on the infant's part. There was just not enough technology to support him yet.

"Thank you," she breathed, now on her bed with the baby cradled close to her chest.

I looked at her, and there definitely was hope in her eyes. However, as I looked deeper, I learned that she knew, somehow, that there was something wrong.

"You're welcome," I replied pleasantly. "Esme… we need to keep an eye on him for a while, though. He didn't really reach the ideal safety standards of a normal baby."

And there it was, that wistful yearning. I saw, in the way she held her son a little closer than necessary, that she knew his time was not long.

She kissed his nose as delicately as was possible, and then I bent down to take him away from her.

"I need to take him to the intensive care unit," I told her as I walked slowly out the door with him in my arms. "Please rest. Your fever isn't going on so well." Had I the pity, I would have told her that her baby was going to be alright.

But I knew she did not need such a thing.

"I will try my hardest to take care of myself," she said.

I nodded once in response, then went on my way to the ICU. I gently placed her infant in the sturdy incubator and assigned a nurse to keep a strict eye on him. There was nothing much I could do but hope for the best in his condition.

Experienced as I was, I knew that his time would come quickly soon.

A surge of pain flooded me as I watched him struggle to breathe. I took care in raising him to a sitting position so that it would allow maximum lung expansion. His heartbeat slowed, finally able to relax after all that struggle just to breathe.

And then there was that small voice, that faint possibility of saving him, one that I had dared not wanted to consider after Edward left.

I knew it was absurd, utterly uncalled for and unforgivable… but I could not stop the thought from coming anyway.

I wished I could change him into what I was now.

I frowned deeply then, and soon I felt an overwhelming disgust and hatred for myself. How could I have even _considered_ taking this infant into this cursed half-life, however justifiable my reason may be? It was an impossibility.

The baby mumbled then, breaking my train of thought.

I noticed how his pink complexion glowed now, but not quite in a way that would have been a safe sign for him. His tiny little mouth, now opened, reminded me of Esme's lips when she talked.

"You're a handsome little man," I whispered, glad that his interruption stopped me from loathing myself more.

I traced one of my pale fingers to his tiny hand, and in response, he squeezed it so hard—hard for him, of course—as if he didn't want to let go.

"Such a delicate little thing," I murmured in awe, watching him finally rest after a long night.

I stayed with him for a while and reveled at his warmth. How I wished I could bring his mother here and revel with me, because we all knew there was only so much time left.

End of chapter II


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